


The Third Forgiveness

by Constellation



Category: Fyerellal
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1598774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constellation/pseuds/Constellation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times when you duly wonder why the inner world version of yourself looks like something out of a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silvereye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvereye/gifts), [hoarmurath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoarmurath/gifts).



> The inner musings of one Lentha Reyvandrene.

Far far away in a three-times-ninth kingdom from the centre of the world was a house that knew very little of what happiness was. And it was alright, because you didn't know any better. You didn't know happiness the way it could be. Happiness for you was a cup of tea or a successful day or finishing a wooden figure without slipping even once. But those were little happinesses, and you didn't know there could be more.

* * *

Sometimes it's cold at night, and you can't sleep when it's cold, so you wrap yourself in blankets and make tea and sit up in your favourite apple tree and stare up at the stars. Sometimes it feels like the stars stare back. Sometimes the stars seem to whisper to you. _It's alright,_ they say. _That's the way life is. It won't get any better._

_Liars,_ you whisper back. _It can get better. I will make it better._ Because somewhere inside you know that this can't be all that life can offer to you.

* * *

You won't let them laugh at you. They laugh anyway.

There aren't many you could confide her plans to. You mention it briefly to the few neighbours you are closer to. Accidentally spill it to a few others. They all look like they're trying not to laugh. _Dragonknight? You? Are you not too young?_ Their words are supportive, but their tone is amused.

You clench your teeth and fists and work towards it anyway. You train and learn and practice until you are exhausted from the lack of sleep and discover you've forgotten about eating for four days. They know nothing, you tell yourself. They do not know that during the short obligatory time you spent in the defence military you managed to up several sorcerers twice your age. This all is only refining your skills.

(Non-existent skills. You try not to remind yourself that those several victories were few rare occurrences and usually you were awful in warfare.)

* * *

 

Sometimes you go up your favourite tree to stare at the stars even when it’s not cold, and you say, _Look. It can get better. Life won't be better by itself, but I can make it better._

The stars seem to laugh at you.

* * *

You consider going to the Military Academy of Eldelon. Would they accept you? Probably not. Would it be worth to try? Probably yes.

* * *

Of all weapons you train with, daggers start feeling more and more comfortable to you, so you soon drop other weapons and focus on these. You are small and fast, which is only good with daggers. You rip the dummies to shreds. You accidentally injure the neighbour's son who agreed to practice with you, and spend two months blatantly apologising, until he laughs at your silliness. _It's alright,_ he assures you. _It was only a small cut. Don't worry so much._

_I always worry,_ you tell him. _You make it sound like worrying is a bad thing._

_It's not. You just do it very much._

_Is that bad?_

_No. Unusual, sure, but I wouldn't call it bad._

* * *

You never liked the spring solstice ceremony much. It makes you feel small. Inferior. Mistaken.

_What do you regret the most that happened during the last year?_

You don't know. You regret so much. You regret all time.

_I regret that I injured a friend during a weapon practice._

_I forgive you._

I don't need your forgiveness, priest, you think, and suddenly you are scared at your own thoughts.

_What do you regret the most that happened in your life?_

So much to regret. So many mistakes. You feel tiny and lonely and broken. You could leave, it's allowed, but you don't want to look weak.

_I regret leaving home too young._

_I forgive you._

You don't actually regret that, you never regret that, but you always say that because you never know what else to say.

The third forgiveness you like the least.

_I forgive myself._

But you don't. You can't. You are too broken. You can forgive to everybody else, but never to yourself. Too much mistakes.

* * *

There are times when you duly wonder why the inner world version of yourself looks like something out of a nightmare. All wispy and fading and with terrible long claws. It confuses you. It should look like you, or how you want it to look, but no matter how hard you concentrate you can’t change it.

_I am a monster._

(At least it suits the inner world itself. The faded monster looks good in the bare terrain where all traps and walls are invisible.)

* * *

You set your mess of a hair in neat braids and find the best clothes you have when you go to the tests. You won’t let anyone laugh at you.

Surprisingly enough, they don’t. Some look like they might want to, but no one does. You stick your chin up and straighten your back and in general try to look like you know what you’re doing. And when you fight, you have no idea what you are doing – you dodge and bend and jump, that far you are aware, but you don’t remember any of the rest. It all passes by like a breeze and the next thing you know there are people looking at you like you have actually impressed them.

When you get home, you burst into tears.

* * *

You look at the grey willow in the heart of your inner world, and you see that it has grown twice its size in the last two weeks. In return, it has lost all its leaves and now wavers in the wind like a monster. A monster that matches the monster you are.

You make heavy rearrangements. Less focus on beauty, more focus on practicality. It takes days before you are actually happy with it.

* * *

 You don’t go up the tree this time to talk to the stars. You stand under the tree and look straight at the brightest star in the sky. _See?_ you tell it. _It is better._

_You are still lonely,_ they say to you. _You will always be lonely._

_There is a lot of Knights. I might find friends there. I will be happy one day.  
_

_No. You can’t make friends. Too much emotion. Too much fear. You are not a proper sorcerer. You are an abomination. Who would want to befriend something like you? Who would want you to be happy?  
_

_Me._

_You are not enough._

* * *

The tests were only that – tests. You still have the mission. Without completing that, there is no hope of becoming a knight.

So you train more. Study more. Practice more. All until the mission comes. There’s no time to study on a mission, there all you have is what you already know.

The daggers are sharp.

The claws of your inner monster are sharper.


End file.
